


His Friend Gil

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:31:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2586590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your best friend is a powerful spark, and you spend a lot of time chatting to him in his lab, the question is not if something will go wrong.  It's when.  Things go very wrong indeed for Sir Ardsley Wooster shortly before his niece's wedding, but he is determined to get there nonetheless... and when he does, he brings someone else with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Friend Gil

“Goodness,” said Harriet Wooster, staring at her reflection in the glass. “It's pretty, but it does feel strange.”

Her father grinned. “That's because you normally always wear trousers. You'd better practise walking around in it. Can't have you tripping over on the way up the aisle.”

“You look beautiful, Hattie,” her mother gushed.

Harriet sighed. “Mother! How often have I asked you not to call me that? It's a little girl's name.”

She tried an experimental turn. It wasn't as if she hadn't thought about this. She had deliberately chosen the simplest, plainest skirt for her wedding dress that she thought she could get away with, and appeased her mother's insistence on frills by having them all in the bodice where they could not get in the way too much. She still felt like hitching the whole thing up over a tool belt, though.

Jane, her mother's maid, came in at this point. “Oh, Miss Wooster!” she exclaimed. “You do look lovely.”

“Thank you, Jane,” said Harriet, privately wondering if she could get away with taking it up a fraction at the hem. Not that she wanted to go round showing her ankles, but, on the other hand, having it trail on the floor seemed like a recipe for trouble.

“There's a letter for you, miss,” said Jane, handing it over. Harriet immediately recognised her Uncle Ardsley's neat, slightly back-slanted hand.

“Thank you, Jane.” Why was he writing at this point? That surely couldn't be good news. He was supposed to be in England by now, and this letter had come from Castle Wulfenbach. For that matter, why was he writing from there and not from the British Embassy?

She opened the letter, frowning, and read as follows:

“Dear Harriet and Pradhi – Rest assured I will attend the wedding no matter what, but I may not be arriving in England until the last minute after all. I'm afraid I have been involved in a little accident. One of Gil's clanks went out of control and turned on him unexpectedly. I was very much afraid it would kill him, so I threw myself at it, and I have suffered a few injuries as a result. Nonetheless, you must not worry about me, and Pradhi need not think of finding himself another best man (I am still most honoured that he asked me). Gil, who thankfully is perfectly unscathed, has promised that he will personally ensure that I am able to be there.

Your loving and affectionate Uncle Ardsley.”

Harriet sighed. “Oh, Uncle Ardsley, what _have_ you been doing now?” She passed the letter over to her father. “He says he's had a little accident.”

Her father read it. “Yes, so I see. Why do you sound so doubtful, Harriet?”

“Usual Uncle Ardsley. It's not what he says, Father. It's what he doesn't say. If it had been just a little accident, and he was only mildly injured, he'd be in England now. It's worse than he says.”

“Jane,” said Harriet's mother, “I think I'm going to have one of my turns. Please go and fetch me the sal volatile.”

Jane hurried off. Harriet gave her father a look, indicating that he should follow, and they went into the back parlour.

“I do wish Mother would stop doing that,” said Harriet impatiently. “She doesn't have to keep having turns. Sometimes I think she just likes the smell of sal volatile.”

“Goodness knows why anyone would,” replied her father. “Dreadful stuff.”

“I agree, but we're all different. Still, I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have said that in front of her. I should have known by now it would set her off.” She paused. “If he says he's definitely still going to be there, I think we can take it as read that he will. But if he needs Baron Wulfenbach to help him...” She grimaced. “I suspect he may turn up with a few body parts made from brass and wood rather than flesh and blood.”

“I am _very_ glad you didn't say _that_ in front of your mother, Harriet.”

“I would be glad not to have to say it at all,” she replied, honestly. “But, really, what was he thinking of? One of the Baron's clanks went out of control! The Baron is one of the strongest sparks in Europa, and from what I've heard, he's also got some formidable... I think the term I'm looking for is personal military hardware on him. I'm sure he could have dealt with his own clank, rogue or otherwise, without batting an eyelid. And Uncle Ardsley had to go and throw himself at the thing! He's got one of the best brains around, so how on earth could he have been so incredibly _stupid?”_

“If you thought your best friend was in serious danger, though, wouldn't you act first and think afterwards?” asked her father, reasonably.

Harriet considered this. “Well... yes,” she admitted. “But then, my best friend isn't a kind of one-man battle unit like the Baron.”

“I should imagine that fact didn't occur to him until after he hit the clank,” replied her father. “I should think he panicked. He was always the same, even when he was a little boy. When most people panic, they either freeze or run away. He'd run straight at whatever was frightening him. I think he's always had the idea that if he ran at it hard enough, there'd be a chance he could make it more scared of him than he was of it.” He stroked his beard reflectively. “Of course, he did learn to moderate that reaction after a while, when it was necessary. But it's always been part of his character. I know he stopped a duel once when he was at Cambridge. One of the combatants drew a pistol on him, and he rushed him. I don't think he thought about it for a moment; it was just the first thing that came into his head to stop him firing. And it was probably the best thing he could have done, but most people wouldn't have done it.”

Harriet sighed. “Well, I suppose I'd better change out of this dress and go and tell Pradhi. At least the rest of the family is over here already. We're going to have to put the bridesmaids through a rehearsal or two, even if Uncle Ardsley arrives at the last minute and has to play it by ear.”

Pradhi received the news in much the same way as Harriet; he was naturally concerned for Sir Ardsley, but did not doubt his word. However, as the day of the wedding drew rapidly closer without any sight of his best man or further word from him, he began to grow a little anxious. He knew as well as his bride did that Sir Ardsley had been making light of his injuries. Had some wound become infected? Had there been some other major complications? And if Baron Wulfenbach was trying to save him – which, assuredly, he would if anything had gone wrong – it was perfectly reasonable that he might forget to inform his friend's relatives, even at such a time.

He knew Uncle Ardsley was a man of his word, and would do everything in his power to be at the wedding. But, if some cruel twist of fate had taken matters out of his power, it was as well to be prepared. He had a word with his friend Mr Bloomfield, who was head usher, and arranged for him to stand in if things went wrong. It was only sensible.

The groom's party was just arriving at the church, and the unfortunate Mr Bloomfield, who was not a public speaker and was only too well aware of it, was resigning himself to his fate, when there was a shout behind them. Pradhi turned, and there, to his utter relief (and Mr Bloomfield's no less), was Uncle Ardsley, leaning heavily on a tousle-headed gentleman in an expensive coat. They walked slowly together up the path towards the church door.

Uncle Ardsley smiled. “Sorry about that, Pradhi. I must have put you in a bit of a panic there, I'm afraid. We had a few little official problems that had to be ironed out. This is Gil.” He indicated his friend.

It was a strange thing, but nonetheless true, that Pradhi did not immediately make the connection. He knew perfectly well that his bride's uncle was friends with Baron Wulfenbach, but he had never met him personally and either did not know, or had forgotten, his first name. Besides, apart from the expensive coat, there was not a great deal to mark out Uncle Ardsley's friend as one of the most powerful rulers in Europa. He was not wearing any insignia, he looked as though he had had too many late nights recently, and he wore, of all things, a fixed collar.

“I am very happy to meet you, sir,” said Pradhi politely to Gil.

Gil grinned. “So you're the happy bridegroom? Nice to meet you too. I hope you don't mind my being here, but Ardsley's still not too good on his feet and he's not sure of himself on crutches. He's afraid that if he has to put one crutch aside to hand over the ring, he'll drop either the crutch or the ring.”

“Indeed, and I was very firm on the subject of a wheelchair,” Uncle Ardsley added. “I have been using one lately, it's true, and they are very helpful things; but I am not going to attempt to be best man from a wheelchair when we haven't had time to rehearse it.”

“Yes, you're a stubborn old dog when you want to be,” said Gil.

“You are very welcome here, sir,” replied Pradhi. He knew there were a few people who had been unable to attend at the last minute, so there would be no difficulty about having him at the reception afterwards. “But we had better be going into the church. The bride will be here very soon.”

Gil helped his friend into one of the front pews. “How are you holding up?” he asked, in an undertone.

“Oh, very well, thank you. I'm not in pain. I'm just a little unco-ordinated. It's a question of getting used to these things, that's all.”

“You're d... no, I shouldn't say that in church... you're very lucky to be alive at all,” said Gil, for what must have been the hundredth time. “I still can't believe you even did that.”

“Yes. Well. You don't go around _looking_ as though you've got personal weaponry that would take out a small town.”

“And there are some very good reasons for that...”

“I know. I _know.”_ Sir Ardsley sighed. “We should keep quiet. Harriet will be here at any moment, and, really, we shouldn't be sniping at each other in a place of worship.”

Gil darted a grin at him. “I'll snipe at you where I like and when I like. You tried to save my life, and then I ended up saving yours. I think we're entitled to some mutual sniping.”

“I can't disagree, but shall we do it at the reception?”

“Oh, you're no fun.”

But the organ started up at this point, and Harriet, followed by her two small cousins in sweet little mauve dresses, entered the church and set off on a stately walk up the aisle. Sir Ardsley glanced round quickly, just to make certain that she saw him; she must have been worried too. Though not nearly as worried as I was, he thought, with feeling. I had no idea they were going to make so much trouble about Gil. I know he's the first Baron Wulfenbach ever to set foot in England, but, really, we're allies now and have been for a while, so why on earth was there all that fuss about it? I had to throw a bit of weight around, and I really hadn't expected that.

Oh well. He's here now. And I'm here, too. On my own two feet, no less.

That is to say, they're my own two feet now, even if Gil did make them for me. It's working the knees and ankles together that's so awkward. Soon enough, it'll be second nature, but just at the moment it's like trying to ride a separate unicycle with each leg.

Pradhi rose to his feet to stand beside his bride, and the rest of the party took up their allotted places, with Sir Ardsley standing just behind Pradhi, still leaning heavily on Gil. The ceremony began.

Too late, it occurred to Sir Ardsley that it might just have been a sensible idea to have given his niece some warning that she was suddenly going to find the great Baron Wulfenbach standing about two feet away from her in the middle of her marriage vows. Oh dear, he thought. Still, Harriet's always been good at dealing with the unexpected.

She and Pradhi turned to face each other. She caught her uncle's eye for a moment. And then she noticed.

Well... she was certainly a Wooster. She looked utterly shocked for a fraction of a second, then simply collected herself and got on with the ceremony. Whatever happened, she was going to marry her Pradhi, and that included unscheduled world leaders showing up at the wedding. But Sir Ardsley was fairly sure she would be wanting a very good explanation later.

She did. The first moment she could decently do so after the service, she hove up to him with Pradhi on her arm. “Uncle Ardsley,” she said. “I'm so glad you managed to get here in the end, but you might have warned me you were bringing the Baron.” She bowed respectfully to Gil; a curtsey would have been more usual, but, since she was in the habit of wearing trousers, she had given up on doing that. “We would obviously have made suitable arrangements. What on earth happened?”

Pradhi stared. “The _Baron?”_ He bowed in turn. “Herr Baron, I must apologise most heartily. I was not knowing who you were.”

“Why do you think I asked your uncle to introduce me as plain Gil?” asked Gil. “Why do you think I'm not wearing an insignia? I'm not here as Baron Wulfenbach. I'm here as your uncle's best friend.”

“Although you wouldn't have believed that, after all the diplomatic wrangles I had to go through to get him here,” said Sir Ardsley. “I can only assume someone, somewhere, was terrified that he might be assassinated if he landed here without proper security. I had to explain to them very firmly that he _is_ proper security. He's permanently armed to the teeth, a fact I shall never forget again as long as I live.”

“Yes, what happened with that clank, Uncle?” asked Harriet, in a somewhat accusing tone.

Gil rolled his eyes. “It went out of control, it turned on me, and this prize idiot you have for an uncle threw himself at it and got his legs blown off. So I built him new ones. He'll be used to them soon enough.”

“Yes, well, if this prize idiot I have for a best friend took a little more care building his clanks...” said Uncle Ardsley, with a grin.

Pradhi was shocked. “But it could have killed you, Uncle Ardsley! And you are both laughing about it.”

Uncle Ardsley smiled. “That's because it didn't. I apologise for the gallows humour at your wedding; we'll try to keep it in check. Sometimes, it's just what happens when you're relieved.”

Gil nodded, suddenly serious. “Yes. I'm being very rude to your uncle at the moment, I'm afraid, but if I didn't I would get sentimental, and he couldn't cope with that. If I'd lost him because of one of my own clanks, I wouldn't be able to live with myself.”

“And you're no better at coping with sentiment than I am,” said Uncle Ardsley, “which would be why I'm not actually gushing about the fact that, thanks to you, I am still able to walk.”

“Oh, sweet lightning, no, I wouldn't know where to put myself if you were to do that,” said Gil.

Harriet looked at them both. “You are a _pair_ of prize idiots,” she decided.

It was not actually possible for Pradhi to blanch, but he did turn a rather unpleasant shade of grey for a moment. “Darling,” he said, “that... you... you... you have just said that to Baron Wulfenbach.”

“And also to the British Ambassador to his Empire,” replied Harriet, unrepentantly. “Yes. So I have.”

Gil grinned at Pradhi. “She's only telling the truth,” he said. “And I haven't congratulated you two yet. Congratulations, and may you have many happy years together.”

“Indeed. Congratulations,” said Uncle Ardsley. “Now, where...?”

It was at this point that the two little bridesmaids, Agatha and Alice, came running up. “Papa!” called Agatha joyfully.

“This prize idiot would like to sit down at once, if he may,” said Sir Ardsley quickly to Gil. “At the moment, they could knock me over between them.”

Gil got him into the nearest chair, to be climbed on and hugged by his two daughters. He left them to it for a while, and went back to talk to the happy couple.

“Just in case you're the slightest bit worried, once he is used to the new legs he will be fine,” he explained. “Nobody will even notice anything odd about his gait. I'm good at what I do. He is simply learning to control them.” He gave Harriet a guilty look. “Well. That is to say, I'm good at what I do nearly all the time. But I definitely got those legs right.”

“He's not in any pain, is he?” asked Harriet.

Gil shook his head. “No. He assured me of that himself just before the ceremony started. Don't worry about him, and don't mind me. This is your day. That's why I didn't want to come in here as anyone other than plain Gil. I wasn't about to steal your thunder.”

“It was good of you,” said Harriet, deciding not to add “Herr Baron” in the circumstances.

“Well.” Gil looked uncomfortable. “It was really all my fault. I should have taken more care with that clank, and... and it isn't as if I don't know what your uncle is like after all this time. I keep telling him he was an idiot to try to stop it, but he didn't have time to sit there doing a nice neat reasoned analysis that went 'oh yes, Gil's armed to the teeth and I'm not, I should get well out of the way and let him stop it himself'. He wasn't an idiot at all. All he saw was his friend in danger, and he acted the way he did because that's who he is.” He paused. “Only don't you dare tell him I said that.”

Harriet smiled. “He'll know you're thinking it, though. Because that's also who he is.”

“Yeah. Well. I don't mind him knowing I'm thinking it. I just don't want him knowing I'm going round saying it. That's all.”

Harriet's mother hurried up to her, dabbing at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. “Oh, wasn't it a beautiful service?” she sighed. “But, you know, the photographer is here, and it might be a good idea if...” She paused, looking at Gil. “Oh, you're Ardsley's friend, aren't you? I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Verity Wooster, Harriet's mother.”

“Delighted to meet you, Mrs Wooster. I'm Gil.”

Mrs Wooster blinked. “That's a little... informal, sir. I'm not sure I could address you like that. Don't you have another name?”

Gil grinned. “As you can probably hear from my accent, I'm not English. I'm one of Ardsley's disreputable Continental friends. Gil will be perfectly adequate, thank you.”

“Well. Really!” exclaimed Mrs Wooster, rather lost for words. Harriet saw that she had noticed the fixed collar. She turned quickly to Pradhi.

“Darling,” she whispered, “let us move very quickly in the direction of the photographer. Now.”

“You are suddenly in a very big hurry,” Pradhi observed, as they did so.

“Yes,” said Harriet. “Because otherwise, my mother is going to have one of her infamous turns.”

“And why is she going to do that?” asked her new husband, still baffled.

“Because,” replied Harriet, eyes dancing, “I am going to laugh.”


End file.
